Page 58 of The Other Side

It’s extremely dangerous.

Lethal.

Wrong.

A sharp breath leaks from me when he flicks my jeans button open. “I can be the bad guy if you want,” he murmurs. “This falls on me.”

My heart stammers. “What does?”

He drags my jeans zipper down, dipping his hands inside my pants to push them down. His posture remains straight, and my hands find his forearms to steady my sprinting pulse.

I angle my chin up, our eyes connected when he cups my ass cheeks in his hot palms. The lace of my panties crinkles under his touch, and my shameful whine strikes the silence.

Brant nudges me closer, a louder moan threatening to spill when I land against his brick chest. His palm delivers a sharp slap to my ass cheek, and I finally let go.

I seal my lips, but the echo of my mewl is already ringing. His mouth sheds a hint of a smirk when he kneads my struck flesh. “No, no. You’re not supposed to like that, Cal,” he taunts.

My mouth parts on a pant, his eyes focused on me when he lowers to his knees. My hands land on his shoulders, and he tugs my sneaker.

Guilt invades my soul, but I toe off my shoes anyway. He shuffles my jeans down my legs and off my ankles, my compliance repulsively predictable.

Everything happens in a blur.

Jesse’s face fogs as visions of sunflowers and Christmas lights flood my mind. It’s all-consuming. Impossible to escape.

Inevitable.

Brant tosses my pants aimlessly on the floor, leaving me standing in a crop top and lace underwear.

I lift my hands from his shoulders, tucking my hair behind my ears. I watch him closely as he stares intently at my bare legs. His hands ghost the sides of my thighs, and heat blooms at an exponential speed.

His eyes rest on my right inner thigh, his fingers traveling up the slope of it.

I word vomit in the next instant. “I have so much to do in the morning,” I breathe in a panic. My legs tremble when his digits land on the same spot he touched on that Christmas Eve. “W-way too much.”

My lips purse when he ignores me. I tilt my chin toward the ceiling, shutting my eyes and resting my hands on his short-clipped hair.

I silently beg myself to run away. Plead with myself to get out while I still can.

But I never budge.

Not a single millimeter.

Brant’s hands hook onto either side of my panties. His forehead melts to my quivering belly, and I dip my chin to stroke his hair.

He fights the same battle as me. His fingers are prepared to strip the only barrier between us. But they never take the plunge.

He’s waiting.

Waiting for me to protest.

I bite my lip, tears stinging my eyes. My mind and heart draw swords, the clashing of metal almost too loud.

Never louder.

Never louder than the parts of my heart that beat for the man on his knees before me.

A harsh breath trickles from me when he glides the lace down. It bunches under my ass cheeks, and Brant stands.